


Happy Forty-Fifth

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:05:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The various jostling bodies and handsome, sweaty young men did nothing to soothe the feeling that he was out of place and far too old to be seen at the club without a date. Or at least some kind of a warm body to grind on. Not that Harry was very good at all at grinding in public or attempting to dance. Not that he'd ever wanted to be. This wasn't his scene, and he knew it. He'd much rather be at a Quidditch match or peeling his skin off with a blunt spoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Forty-Fifth

Hermione nudged Harry in his side. "Harry," she said, in the way she liked to say his name when she knew something he didn't.

"Hermione," he parroted dully, lifting his empty shot glass to watch the droplets of firewhiskey collected at the bottom.

"It's your birthday," she went on.

"Well spotted." He licked the rim of the glass and set it on the bar, nodding to the barkeep for a refill.

"You can't just get sloshed and feel sorry for yourself—again."

"Hermione, I'm forty-five years old," Harry said tersely. "I can do whatever the hell I want." He thanked the barkeep and tossed the shot back. "And you can't stop me."

"How very adult of you," she snapped. When Harry didn't answer, she sighed and slipped off the barstool elegantly. "I'm going to find Ron for a dance."

"Good," Harry said. "Please keep his drunk arse out of my hair while I—what was it?—get sloshed and feel sorry for myself, that's it." Harry lifted his shot glass with a grin.

When Hermione disappeared into the crowd, Harry finally turned to look around. The various jostling bodies and handsome, sweaty young men did nothing to soothe the feeling that he was out of place and far too old to be seen at the club without a date. Or at least some kind of a warm body to grind on. Not that Harry was very good at all at grinding in public or attempting to dance. Not that he'd ever wanted to be. This wasn't his scene, and he knew it. He'd much rather be at a Quidditch match or peeling his skin off with a blunt spoon.

But when Hermione insisted on something, Harry listened. By now, he was really starting to think she had her head screwed on backwards if she thought he would have any fun on his birthday at a place like this. The constant reminder that he was an aged relic in a sea of hot-blooded men with the rest of their lives ahead of them was not quite the way he wanted to spend his fifth birthday as a divorcee.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Just vacated, actually," Harry said with a yawn. "Mine will be too in a minute."

"Ah, well, then I won't be needing this seat, I suppose."

Harry waved the bartender over again for a refill. "And why's that?"

"Because I only want this seat if you're in that one."

"I don't understand," Harry said slowly, the wheels of his brain working slowly. But when he turned to face the man who'd sat beside him, realization dawned quick as a curse on his face. Harry grinned broadly. "Oh, hello, Scorpius."

" _Oh, hello, Scorpius_ is all you can say?" Scorpius asked. "After all the trouble I went to in your Defense lessons to get top marks and after your exquisite letter of recommendation to the Auror Program, _oh, hello, Scorpius,_ is the best you've got?" But Scorpius was grinning.

Harry snorted, standing up from his chair to offer his hand. "Sorry, sorry. You'll have to forgive an old man on his birthday."

Scorpius shook his hand firmly, but then pulled Harry close for a hug. "Your birthday?"

"Forty-fifth, I'm afraid," Harry said, laughing as he patted Scorpius on the back.

"It's good to see you again, sir. Happy birthday."

Harry tried to pull away, but Scorpius held him still for a few more moments. When they finally disentangled, Harry felt a little flush. Whether it was from the warmth of Scorpius' embrace or the whiskey, he wasn't sure. He took the new shot of whiskey awaiting him just to find out.

"Congratulations on making the Auror Program, by the way," Harry said, sitting back down and facing Scorpius. "I saw your marks—they were top-notch."

"I always get what I want, sir," Scorpius said, grinning as he ran his fingertip along the rim of a blue martini glass that was just placed in front of him. When he licked his finger clean, Harry feared he might have to wipe away drool from his face.

"You, erm, don't have to call me _sir_ anymore, Scorpius," Harry said, clearing his throat. "I'm no longer your professor. Just 'Harry' is fine with me."

"Right, sir— _Harry_ ," Scorpius said, laughing as he tipped his martini back and downed half of it in one go.

Harry grinned dumbly. "Sir Harry is good too."

After twenty minutes of small talk and two more shots of whiskey, Harry was not in his right mind when he accepted Scorpius' invitation to dance.

"I'm bollocks," he shouted over the roar of music and bodies. "I'll only embarrass you."

"Who said I was any good?" Scorpius asked, hands on Harry's hips. "Besides, nobody's watching. It's just us. No one else, Harry."

Harry liked that thought. No one else but Harry Potter, Boy who fucking Lived, and Scorpius Malfoy, Boy who fucking Looked Good Enough to Eat. And goddamn it but Harry was starved.

They started slowly, Scorpius guiding and pulling Harry's body, their hips a foot apart, and then somehow Scorpius got very close or Harry overstepped the invisible line that kept them safely apart, and then their hips were like opposing ends of magnets, glued together and grinding hard. And somehow after that, Scorpius had Harry's back shoved against the far wall of the club and Scorpius' mouth was on his dick, and Harry was whispering naughty little nothings into the roar of the club.

"Turn around," Scorpius said.

Harry was drunk, but not so badly off that he didn't know what Scorpius wanted. "You're a, um, giver, then?" Harry didn't know how to ask whether Scorpius wanted to top.

"Always," Scorpius purred.

Harry didn't ask any further questions as he pressed his cheek, chest, and hands to the wall before him. It felt cold and good against his hot, sweaty skin. When Scorpius tugged his jeans down, Harry snorted. It would be his luck that Hermione or Ron would walk by right about now and see him with his— _OH. FUCK. YEAH._

Scorpius' tongue delved right in between Harry's cheeks without preamble. Scorpius held his ass apart, spreading him until it was indecent and embarrassment flooded Harry's entire body from chest to toes. He grunted into the wall, thrust his ass back against Scorpius' face, and came an astounding five minutes after Scorpius inserted his tongue.

After that, the evening was a blur of rope burns, blueberry martini kisses, and fucking well into the morning. And when Harry woke with Scorpius Malfoy tucked under his arm and wrapped in his blankets, the first thing he did was owl Hermione to thank her for the best birthday ever.


End file.
